


Push and Shove

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Alias
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a regular day at the office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push and Shove

It was just a regular day at the office.

Of course, the term 'regular' was widely open to interpretation (so was 'at the office', for that matter), and Vaughn briefly wondered what exactly had gone wrong in his life that he considered being beaten up in dingy Russian motel rooms to be nothing out of the ordinary. Then Sark's fist was in his face, and there was no more time to contemplate philosophical questions of life.

He should have known that the mission would go like this. Well, maybe not exactly like this, with Sark and him facing off over an ancient KGB document that technically shouldn't exist in the first place. But he should have known that something, somehow, would inevitably go wrong. It had been one of those "get in, get the intel, get out" missions that were said to be easy and uncomplicated. Except, of course, they never were.

The shove he gave Sark sent the other man flying halfway across the room, right into a chair that he knocked down with him as he fell. Vaughn almost winced. But then, Sark deserved it. Sark generally deserved anything he had coming to him.

Sark was back on his feet quicker than Vaughn had expected. Apparently, the hard landing had been less painful than it looked, if the smirk on his face was any indication. "Does this turn you on, Agent Vaughn?" he asked, casually, as if it was the sort of question to be expected.

"What exactly? Beating you up, or being beaten up by you?" His reply was, Vaughn thought, equally nonchalant, but he was momentarily distracted. Enough for Sark to move in on him.

"Does it –" Sark paused long enough to bury his fist in Vaughn's solar plexus. "– make a difference?" 

"You're delusional," Vaughn gasped when he found his voice again, well aware that it wasn't really an answer to either of Sark's questions. He tried to shove the pain aside and straighten up again, but Sark was already there, grabbing his wrist and twisting it cruelly behind him. The next thing he knew, he was face-first against the wall, Sark pressing flush against his back, effectively immobilizing him. The insistent hardness of an erection was digging into Vaughn's ass, obvious even through the heavy fabric of Sark's jeans. Vaughn instinctively pushed back, just for a split second before he realized what he was doing, but it was enough to elicit matching gasps from both of them. 

It was an odd standstill, both men taking their time to catch their breath, allowing themselves to relax in the intimate position. 

It lasted less than a minute; then Vaughn's elbow hit Sark in the ribs and sent him stumbling backwards, freeing Vaughn from Sark's weight on him.

"That wasn't nice," Sark commented with what Vaughn swore was a small pout.

He smiled, exhilarated from adrenaline and arousal - classic _fight-or-flight_ response, nothing he thought twice about. "Since when are you interested in playing nice?"

"I'm not." Sark flashed him a brief smile in return. Vaughn never saw the kick coming. There was a blunt pain in his chest and then he was falling, only realizing what had happened when he was flat on his back and his whole body felt like it had been crushed with rocks. 

He quickly catalogued his possible injuries. Everything hurt. One of his ankles might be sprained. His left forearm had been cut open on a sharp edge of the metal table during the fall and was bleeding steadily. It was almost a wonder that his head had suffered no wounds.

When he looked up again, he saw that Sark had suddenly produced a gun from somewhere and was pointing it at him. He stared at it in disbelief as the implications of the present situation hit him: Sark could have ended this at any fucking time by pulling the gun at him; instead he chose to play with him by letting him believe they were on even ground.

"You little shit!"

Sark raised an eyebrow at him in question. 

"You could have just waltzed in here, pulled the gun, taken the file and left."

"And just where would have been the fun in that?" Sark offered him a cocky, annoying smile that Vaughn only too much would have liked to wipe off with his fist. "But now, much as I like to continue this, I'm afraid I'm running out of time." Keeping his eyes and the weapon trained on Vaughn, he reached down to take the file. When Vaughn made a move to get up, Sark cocked the gun. Vaughn stilled immediately, contending himself with glaring daggers at Sark, whose smirk didn't waver.

"Well, it's been interesting. Good to see you haven't lost your touch," Sark went on conversationally, as he dusted the file off and slipped it into his jacket. "Give my regards to Sydney and the kids."

As if in afterthought, he suddenly frowned and looked at him with a new intensity that made Vaughn want to squirm… away or towards him, he wasn't sure. When Sark spoke again, his voice was rich with the silky quality of promise. "One day, Michael…" 

"One day, what?" Vaughn spat, frustrated. "One day you kill me? Fuck me? Explain to me what the hell this is all about?" But Sark was already gone. Vaughn let himself drop back on the floor, wincing when the back of his head made none-too-gentle contact with unyielding, dirty concrete.

Just a regular day at the office.

End.


End file.
